Steele Claws - Story 3
by Camargue
Summary: Family – you can't live with them and you can't kill them! This story is the third one in the timeline telling what happened to Remington and Laura after the show officially ended. But you don't have to have read the previous ones – all my stories can be read as stand alone tales with no problem.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

While the British Airways 747 from Dublin to San Francisco settled at 31,000 feet and headed into the west, Laura Steele – or Laura Holt-Steele – she wasn't sure herself yet – settled back in the leather seat and sipped her glass of Taittinger. Next to her, Remington Steele was sipping at a balloon of armagnac and watching the in-flight movie, _Hannah and Her Sisters_, the headphones plugged in and his feet up on the footrest that automatically slid out from underneath his seat.

This – First Class – was truly the way to fly if one could afford it, mused Laura. And yet, 'it' – luxury – was still something she was not quite used to. It had only been in the last six years, since she had founded Remington Steele Investigations and created the wealthy and debonair head of the agency, that she had been able to live the luxurious lifestyle by proxy. And it had become essential when Remington had come along and become…well, become Remington Steele.

Laura had grown up in an upper middle class home, comfortable, but not one where eating caviar and quaffing champagne were everyday occurrences. Encino was affluent but not rich – it was certainly no Beverly Hills. And while Frances and Laura had attended private school, and the family had had enough money to enjoy pleasures like skiing vacations and a summer camp for the girls (where Laura had excelled at pinochle), traveling first class in airplanes or staying in the presidential suite at hotels was not something the Holt family considered normal.

In 1980, when Laura had begun the agency with Murphy and set out her strategy to make Remington Steele – the fictional Remington Steele – the talk of the town, he had been skeptical. Murphy, cautious and methodical, had considered the whole approach risky and doomed to fail. It had been uncharacteristic of Murphy to give up a regular paycheck from his stable job at Havenhurst in order to join with Laura, especially as the junior equity partner in the nascent agency. He had done it, Laura thought, from a combination of friendship and loyalty to her – despite her being the younger woman and the junior employee, whereas Murphy had already been established at Havenhurst when Laura had joined its trainee program as a precocious graduate of Stanford, not quite yet twenty-two years old.

He had questioned why Laura had soon decided to move the agency to the expensive real estate of Century City, alongside the advertising agencies and legal firms that occupied the two towers. Later, when Laura had bought the Cadillac and hired Fred, he had asked, 'What kind of a PI has a limo – how can you tail anyone in it?'. Bernice, their secretary and office manager who had come on board as soon as they had opened, had seemed amused by the idea – she had always had more imagination than Murphy and a wicked streak to boot.

Yet, slowly, Laura's approach had worked. She and Murphy had gatecrashed a lot of conferences in LA, introducing themselves to the annual meeting of, say, the West Coast Clothing Retailers Association, or the National Conference of Will Writers, scattering around business cards and promoting the agency to any business owner that might need a private investigator's services.

They had also established a lot of links with local cops, who would refer cases which they could not deal with (especially missing persons cases) to the agency. They had cold called and schmoozed a lot of legal practices in the city, hoping that this obvious source of investigative work would start to pay dividends. 'Remington Steele' had written to the local newspapers frequently, commenting, on a strictly non-partisan basis, on some major city council decision or political issue then under discussion in Los Angeles. Sometimes, a friendly journalist would insert a quote in a law and order article from 'the famous private investigator, Remington Steele'.

Quite early on in 1980, their approach had paid dividends when they had been called into a small local bank, Palmer Bank, to investigate suspected fraud. They had caught the guilty parties – Lily Martin, a bank teller, and her boyfriend Percy Descoine. The former had committed suicide, the latter had been convicted in May that year of embezzlement. The success of this case had garnered them some local publicity, though the bank had tried its best to keep the story under wraps; a lot more work from the smaller financial institutions and local Savings and Loans had resulted.

As the agency's name had become known, and as she and Murphy had also brought in badly-needed dollars through bread and butter work like divorce cases and background checks, things had become more stable, though the books still remained slightly in the red. Bernice and Fred's salaries, together with the high costs of the office and the car, had eaten into the revenue the agency generated. Laura and Murphy – as the hidden but real owners of the agency – had taken the smallest salaries that they could; in Laura's case, enough to live on, make payments on her Rabbit and pay the mortgage on her Studio City house.

When they had solved the Harper Case in November 1980, it was the first time that the agency had not had to finagle its way into getting LA-wide publicity – it was the press, both print and local TV, that had been desperate to get quotes from the man, Remington Steele, who had broken the case. This had given the agency a huge boost, and suddenly there had been cases round the block, as everyone in LA with a problem had sought the services of the ex-CIA (or so it was implied) investigative genius.

And then Remington – she now thought of the man sitting next to her almost totally as actually being Remington – had turned up and 'become' Remington Steele – the voice, the face, the attitude, the man…

As Laura had said to him on the very first day that they met, he really did things on a grand scale. Although he had been pretending to be a South African policeman, his hire car had been a Mercedes coupé, and his suits had been quite obviously custom made. He drank champagne like others drank water – by the magnum.

And once he had settled into the rôle of Remington Steele – which had come startlingly quickly, as far as Laura and Murphy had been concerned – the expenses had mounted stratospherically. The agency had taken on the mortgage for Remington's apartment in Hancock Park, had paid the $50,000 joining fee for the Wilshire Country Club, had bought him even more custom tailored suits, silk shirts and Italian shoes, and had paid for an expense account of epic proportions.

And yet, apart from the first months when the expenses had been very heavy, and the atmosphere of conflict in the agency – between Bernice and Steele, Murphy and Steele, Laura and Steele, and sometimes Laura and Murphy – oppressive, the appearance of an actual 'Remington Steele' had more than paid for itself. Putting a face to the name had boosted their customer base by an order of magnitude. Remington's almost telepathic ability to act the part had paid off in massive amounts of publicity and the rise to prominence of 'Remington Steele' to become the most well known private investigator in the city.

The success of Laura's gambit had been something very difficult for Murphy Michaels to accept; as he had said numerous times to her, 'I hate this Laura, I really hate this'. Creating a fake Remington Steele in order to help her was something he could just about live with; but having to then manage the vagaries of the 'real' Steele's behavior had been a step too far for Murphy. He was, as he once said, a straight-ahead guy with no curves. It had been no surprise to Laura, really, when he had told her that he was leaving to set up on his own; she had sensed it was coming.

Laura had been sad at the time – was still sad – about the loss of their friendship. Oh of course, they were still friends in name – they exchanged Christmas and birthday cards, and called each other a few times a year. But that genuine intimacy – that only exists between people who live in close proximity and socialize together frequently – was gone now and Laura still regretted it. Murphy's leaving Los Angeles had emphasized to her again how small was the circle of those she was genuinely close to.

Laura didn't like to think too deeply about the personal relationship between Murphy and herself. She was aware that others – Bernice, her old colleagues at Havenhurst – had speculated often that Murphy carried a torch for her, and that his throwing in with her in setting up the agency had been done as a result of this unrequited love. And, as she recalled now, there had been an occasion when he had made a pass at her, much to her consternation. But after the initial shock, as Laura chewed over what had happened, she could not see that pass as genuine, as sexual.

Rather, Murphy had simply been trying to grab her attention, to break the spell of her attraction for Remington that was obvious to everyone (including Laura), so that Murphy could show her the damage he felt was being done to everything else: their integrity as people, their financial caution, their pragmatic approach to working for their clients. Laura was so mesmerized by Steele that, although they fought like wildcats at times, she still overlooked too many of his myriad _faux pas_ – making promises to clients he could not keep; lying breathtakingly to the police, witnesses and the press; speculating wildly in the newspapers; acting first and thinking later. This approach to work – to life – was diametrically the opposite of Murphy's worldview and it had ultimately been something he could not, or would not, tolerate. Laura did not believe that anything pertaining to romantic feelings between Murphy and herself was the reason he really left; if anything, the reasons had concerned things more fundamentally important than simply sex and attraction.

In the nearly four years since Remington had stormed into her life, the agency's fortunes had increased spectacularly. Despite the huge overheads they maintained, the agency was very profitable and furnished Steele and Laura with a handsome standard of living. Laura had eventually – in secret – bought out Murphy's equity stake. Her own ownership of the agency was hidden behind dummy corporations, so that under superficial inspection, it appeared as if 'Remington Steele' owned the business and Laura Holt was merely a salaried employee, along with Mildred and Fred.

And so, Laura now found herself here, sipping champagne, sitting in a $1,600 plane seat while those in coach traveled for $450, and looking forward to the late lunch, when the stewardesses would bring round _hors d'oeuvre_ of caviar and blinis, followed by lobster thermidor. Yes, thought Laura – although she was naturally frugal and down to earth, it was nice to live in luxury if you got the chance.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

The movie ended and the lights brightened, leavening the semi-dark quiet that had pervaded the cabin. That slight throb of background activity that always accompanied the end of the movie came over the airplane – people stretching, conversations restarting, the click of passengers opening their briefcases and purses.

Remington put away the headphones and, sipping the last of his brandy, turned to Laura, who was staring out of the window abstractedly. "Penny for your thoughts?"

"Oh…oh. I was miles away. Just musing about nothing."

An über-blonde, dressed in the British Airways blue uniform and looking like she had just stepped off of the catwalk, came up to them. "Good afternoon," she said to Steele, in a cut glass English accent, "I am Fenella, I'll be taking over for the lunch service, which will be in about fifteen minutes. Would you like another Hourtica in the meantime, Mr Steele?"

Steele automatically flicked on his charm switch, giving the young woman a broad smile, his stance open and his body language relaxed. "Why Fenella, thank you so much, that would be delightful," he said, placing his brandy snifter on the tray she held out.

"And Mrs Steele? More champagne?"

"Thank you," replied Laura, placing her flute on the tray, as she stared at Steele. After the blonde had gone to the galley, Laura continued in a low voice, "You're unbelievable, you know that?"

"Eh?"

"Christie Brinkley over there…she can't be more than nineteen years old and you are flirting with her like nobody's business. Unbelievable!" whispered Laura, a little piqued, but not wanting to be overheard in the confined cabin.

"Now Laura, I was just being friendly," responded Steele, defensively.

"Ha! Here we are – returning from our honeymoon, for goodness sake; you've just been telling me how you've waited three years for me, how you want us to have a real marriage, how much you care about me – and now you are flirting with the flight attendant," said Laura, with only slightly feigned vehemence.

"I do, Laura, I do! Look, I've waited three years and more for you, I would never jeopardize that by chasing after another woman! Really, I was just being pleasant to the girl…it is my experience that a little politeness in life never went amiss, and can help smooth things over with people you meet." The stewardess had returned with their drinks and a tray of blinis and caviar, and he waited until she had left before continuing, "Anyway, I suspect that this little outburst of yours has more to do with your mother than it has with me, eh?"

Laura's face clouded over, telling Steele he had been correct in his speculation. Laura swallowed some of her champagne, her eyes wide. She sighed deeply; "You're right, of course," she said at last.

Remington grasped her right hand in his left and gave it a squeeze, trying to convey his support to her. "I'm aware, Laura, that your relationship with Abigail is a little…fraught. But really, I'm sure it will be alright once we get there. We've got our story straight about that day, so as long as there are no slip-ups, she ought not to be suspicious. She will come round – I mean, she knows we are married and you've already broken the news to her."

"That's the problem! God – when I called her that day and told her…well, she just spent half an hour hysterically asking me whether I had no thought for her feelings, to get married without telling her first? I think it might have been the worst telephone call of my life! Can you imagine what it'll be like face to face? My mother has a unique ability to be catty when she wants to be."

"Perhaps you're exaggerating a little, Laura? I've always found Abigail so charming. I mean to say, when we visited her last Thanksgiving she welcomed me into her home – she was positively effusive. The way you've always talked about her made her seem…old fashioned, persnickety; but she let us stay, not only under her roof, but in the same bedroom."

"But nothing happened."

"I know that, Laura – believe me, I am _painfully_ aware that nothing happened between us…had happened between us at that point. But what I'm getting at is that Abigail seemed very modern – as far as she was concerned, I was your, uhm, boyfriend…and she seemed to have no problem if we shared a room during our stay. Hardly the actions of the old fashioned sort of person you've described."

"But that's just it – she thought you and I were involved, and no doubt assumed we were sleeping together…she probably assumed, or at least hoped, we were on the track to marriage and therefore she would have been happy to let us share a room if it got me to the altar quicker!"

"Ah, I understand. Hmm…so, marriage was her fondest wish for her younger daughter, and we…dashed her hopes by doing the deed in secret, so to speak?"

"Exactly. Mother's probably had a trousseau picked out for me since I was eighteen."

"Well, look…we'll face her together," said Remington, squeezing Laura's hand tighter. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "Don't worry, she'll be fine – we'll win her over, hmm?"

Laura sighed and stared out of the window.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

After a half-hour flight on the shuttle from San Francisco, Laura and Steele reached the Northern California city of Chico in the mid-morning. After they had collected their bags and exited the airport, they were hit by a wall of heat. Although it was still only May, the summer temperatures had already kicked in with a vengeance, and they were both still attired for the cooler climate of Ireland, which made the effect even stronger. Steele was dressed in a black sports coat, gray formal pants and a white dress shirt, although he had left its collar open and was tieless. Laura had on a pair of tan, GH Bass weejuns, brown Nina Ricci flecked wool tweed pants and a cream colored turtleneck; she loved turtleneck sweaters and wore them a lot, despite living in the hot climate of Los Angeles.

A short cab ride brought Remington and Laura to a modest, single story ranch-style home in the suburbs. It was a wide-looking house, weather boarded and painted white on the outside, and set back from the street. There was a well tended lawn in front with a path set into it, but there was no fence around the property, just flower beds on all three sides. A large porch shaded the front door in the center, with a picture window on the left and a slightly set back garage on the right. A mature California sycamore tree shaded the front of the property from the hot overhead sun. Just before they got out of the cab, Remington squeezed Laura's hand in a gesture of support.

He stood holding their bags as Laura rang the bell, taking a deep breath and painting on a smile. He could see the tension in her body language, however, despite the expression on her face. The door opened and Abigail appeared, her own smile wide and welcoming. She was dressed in a pair of lilac pants, black shoes and a white, short-sleeved blouse. A short string of pearls was around her neck.

"Laura, dear, welcome home," she said, her voice bright and friendly. "Oh come here," she said as Laura hesitated, and reaching for her daughter, she hugged her tightly.

"Hello, mother," answered Laura, as she kissed the older woman on her cheek and hugged her back. Mother and daughter held their embrace for a long moment, as Steele watched on. Laura looked a little surprised.

"Laura, you look wonderful. Congratulations on your marriage – I think it must really agree with you. Although you have changed your hair! Do you think those bangs were a wise decision, darling?"

"Uhm, I don't know mother…they were an experiment…you are right, perhaps not…" mumbled Laura in reply.

Abigail released Laura and looked towards Steele. "Remington – it must be six months since we've seen each other, and now you've made an honest woman of my daughter!" she said, as she moved to embrace him. "Let me welcome you to the family. My heartiest congratulations to you as well."

Steele bent and kissed her on both cheeks in the European fashion, one of his devastating smiles on his face. "Abigail: thank you so much for inviting me – us. It is truly a pleasure to see you again. And of course, thank you for your kind words about the family."

"I meant it Remington…Well, don't stand on the stoop, Laura – come in, come in, both of you," said Abigail, as she bustled into the hallway and then led them through a large, open archway on the left, gesturing for Laura and Steele to follow. "Put the bags down there," she ordered Steele in her singsong but direct tone. Steele dropped the bags, and followed Laura from the hallway into the family room, looking around as he did so.

The house had wooden floors throughout, covered with pink, flower-patterned rugs in the main areas, and was painted in a cream color, giving it a neutral, hotel-like feel. The furniture was generally modern and neutral as well – cherry wood, it seemed to him – and looked like it had come from a catalog store. He saw a coat stand and modern grandfather clock in the hallway, and a credenza scattered with sets of keys, a telephone and mail that looked like it was ready to be sent off. Then, in the family room, there was a cream colored suite, pale green and pale blue throws and cushions, watercolor sketches of the seashore and rural scenes on the walls, and a walnut coffee table in the center covered by coasters and a pile of magazines that had been carefully arranged in exact symmetry. A mirror over an unlit fireplace provided a focus to the room, while numerous pot plants gave life to the otherwise slightly bland surroundings. The whole house was fearfully clean.

"Please sit down. Now, what would you like to drink? Coffee? Or would you prefer some lemonade on such a hot day – it's homemade? No, don't sit there Laura, sit on the couch next to Remington – a wife should always sit next to her husband I think, don't you? Well, let me get the lemonade; I shan't be a moment…and please take off your jackets, it is very warm in here today…I want you to consider this place like your home, I want you to completely relax while you are here. Laura, sit up, don't slouch dear…right, I'll be back in just a moment."

Laura and Steele looked at each other, overwhelmed by the ball of charming energy that was Abigail Holt.

Abigail returned from the kitchen with a tray containing a pitcher of homemade lemonade with ice in it, and a plate of mint fondants to nibble on. As she served them, she launched into a flurry of conversation, discussing their flights across the Atlantic and then on from San Francisco, their plans for their stay, the heat of the day, the state of traffic in Chico on the cab ride and the growth of her bougainvillea plants in the yard.

Steele took it in his stride, turning on his conversational autopilot effortlessly to match Abigail topic for topic, but Laura seemed in a slight daze at the so-far benign encounter with her mother, only adding a few words here and there. All three sat in the warm room, with the hum of the air conditioner occasionally to be heard during lulls in the conversation. The sun had now passed its highest point and was moving into position at the front of the house, shining in past the tree and through the wide front window of the family room, which overlooked the street.

"Oh, but look at me, I've been rambling on," said Abigail. "You tell me, how was the wedding and the honeymoon? Oh – I almost forgot – let me look at the ring! And did you enjoy Ireland?" She rose from her chair and went to look at the Pepplers' wedding band which Laura was wearing on her left hand.

"Well, the wedding was very sudden, of course, mother. Remington asked me in the morning and we married in the afternoon," explained Laura, as her mother stood over her, inspecting her fake wedding band. "And the honeymoon was, erm, thrilling – Ireland's an exciting place. So it has been a roller coaster three weeks…the marriage was really very sudden…" she ended lamely.

"Well, I am aware of that, dear – you told me that the day afterwards, when you called me," Abigail replied, returning to her seat. "But I still don't really understand why? Of course, you can tell me it's not my business – I know that young people these days have different ideas – and Lord knows, Laura, you've told me that my ideas are old fashioned – but if you could explain it, then…well, perhaps I might understand – do you see?

"I would so have liked to have been there; and of course, so would Frances and your grandmother. After all, one's daughter only gets married once – or at least, one hopes so. Oh! Oh goodness! I just had a thought – please don't tell me you're pregnant, Laura?"

"Mother! I am not pregnant! This was not a shotgun wedding!"

Remington jumped in, "Abigail, I sense that we may have hurt your feelings…allow me to offer a profound apology if we have. Please, I beg of you, don't hold it against Laura…"

"Why, I don't Remington, I don't….I could never hold anything against Laura – she's my little one," said Abigail, a surprised look on her face. It was matched by Laura's look of surprise.

"Of course, Abigail, of course…as Laura explained, it was really my…whim. Call it a charge into action. After so long…years of wooing, years of waiting…I knew that I wanted to marry Laura. And so I said to her, 'Laura, let's do it! No family, no guests, no razzmatazz – let's just go to City Hall right now and get married'. And she said 'Yes'. That's what I love about Laura – she's so impulsive! So you see, Abigail, it was a spur of the moment decision, really, and all at my instigation. I am sure you would have liked to be there; for it to have been a more formal affair; I hope you can forgive me…"

"Oh, of course, Remington, of course…So romantic, to be swept off one's feet. An elopement! Darling, you must have been such a happy girl that afternoon! Although, I must say I am surprised, dear – I never thought you were one for spontaneity, it seems so unlike you to just decide to jump up and marry on a whim."

"I can be spontaneous, mother! Why, why…I've done a lot of spontaneous things in my life. And to answer your question, yes, I was ecstatic when we got married," said Laura, with a false smile on her face and a shadow over her eyes as she remembered again the farce of her wedding – the worst day of her life.

"Now Laura, I love you dearly, and you have many wonderful qualities, but spontaneity is not one of them…Do you know, Remington, when Laura was little, she used to keep a chart so that she could rotate her school uniforms so that they would wear out evenly?" asked Abigail, with the sweetest smile.

"Really, Abigail? How unusual," said Steele, a grin on his face, as he looked at a furiously blushing Laura.

"Mother! Please! Whatever you may think, I can be spontaneous. And when Remington asked me, well, I was so in love with him that I felt I had no option than to agree…we're going to be the happiest couple in America!" said Laura with a gleam in her eye, as she turned her head briefly towards Steele.

"Oh, so romantic," sighed Abigail, getting the wrong end of the stick. "Anyway, we've been chatting away and the time has positively flown by. Look, why don't we have some lunch?"


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

After a cold lunch with Abigail – a Waldorf Salad followed by her homemade blueberry pie – Laura and Steele had taken up her suggestion to have a short nap; they were both jet lagged and it was approaching late evening on Dublin time. Abigail had said that she had some errands to run, and wanted to get to the supermarket to do some shopping as well, and so Laura and Steele had not objected, and had made their way into the guest room.

They both dropped down onto the bed, on top of the comforter, not bothering to get under the bedclothes given the still potent heat of the summer afternoon. After a minute, Steele reached out and grasped Laura's hand. "Are you okay, Laura?" he asked.

"Oh, what a nightmare!" exclaimed Laura. Suddenly needing Remington's embrace, she rolled onto her side next to him, placing her head on his shoulder and throwing an arm across his chest. He put his arm around her and hugged her close.

"Well, that didn't go too badly, I thought," he said in a low voice, unwilling to risk being overheard by Abigail.

"What do you mean, it didn't go too badly? It was horrible. My mother can really scratch when she wants to; she more or less implied I had deliberately set out to hurt her."

"Erm…it was a bit tense at first, but everything seemed much sunnier during lunch," answered Remington slowly, a little puzzled.

"You see? You're like everyone else outside our family – you think my mother is so charming, so…enchanting, so…fragrant! You can't see that her looks, her gestures, her words – they are all to show me just how much of a disappointment I've been to her," Laura responded passionately.

"Please don't take this the wrong way, Laura, but do you think you might be overreacting a little? I cannot say I thought Abigail was particularly unfair…or, uhm, critical towards you."

"Oh, Remington, you just can't see it; you didn't grow up with her. Only Frances and I really understand. Sure, your telling mother that our eloping was your idea did cause her to ease off a little, but before that, she had obviously been dead set on blaming me for the whole situation. I guess she fell for that smooth talk of yours."

"I don't know about that Laura! Do you think I'd smooth talk Abigail? I was merely trying to protect you, that's all."

"Well, thanks, on this occasion; protecting me helped a little."

Steele half sat up, placing his back against the headboard, so that Laura's head was now resting on his stomach. He began to play with her hair. "Uhm, why have you always had such a difficult relationship with Abigail?" has asked.

"I suppose…we are just very different people. But it got a lot worse after my father left us, I think; at least, before, he was a buffer between mother and me, but afterwards – well, there was no buffer."

"Do you mind if I ask what happened? I mean, I know he walked out on you – but why? I've never really wanted to press the question before," Steele said, tugging on his earlobe. "You can tell me it's none of my business, I'll fully understand."

Laura hesitated for a minute. "No, no, it's okay…we decided we wanted to have a real marriage, and that means being genuinely honest with each other, to stop hiding things. So, you have a right to ask me, and I want to…share it with you, I suppose. If you still want to know?"

"Erm, yes…How did your mother end up in Chico, for example?"

"Well, my father walked out on us in '72…"

"You were sixteen…"

"Uh-huh. It was a few months before Frances was due to get married; she and Donald had been dating for two years, since she was eighteen, and they were just waiting for him to finish dental school. And then daddy just got up and left."

"It must have been traumatic?"

"Of course, for all of us…but I suppose, especially for mother. She had made her life around a husband and family; her entire existence was as a wife and mother – and now, the first part of that was gone. She had been completely, totally consumed by being my father's wife – and when he left her, her life just stopped for a while. Thank God for grandmother, and Frances.

"But she eventually had to pull herself together, and she did…I was proud of her, actually. We didn't have much money, and so she went back to work, even though she hadn't worked in twenty-five years. She went out and got a job by force of personality, really."

"Doing what?"

"She got a job at UCLA, in student administration – not that she knew anything about student administration," Laura chuckled. "Well, Frances got married a few months after the original planned date, and then went East. A couple of years later, I went to Stanford. And then after that, mother was alone; I guess she wanted a new start, or maybe to be closer to me at Stanford, I don't know, but she took a job in student administration at Chico State – Chico's a college town – and moved up here."

"When?"

"Oh…it must have been…'75 – so eleven years ago, now. I think she's content here. And she had persuaded grandmother to move up here with her, so they have each other."

"Setting aside your father's leaving – the buffer – why have you and Abigail never got along? I remember when you and I first met, how flabbergasted I was when you told me that you hadn't seen her for three years."

"I remember. To be fair, we did write and speak on the telephone during that period.

"But, the thing is, mother wants everything to be perfect, you see. When you're a child, there's a tape loop of your parents that you hear – the soundtrack to the family's life, if you understand what I mean? Well, my memories are of hearing mother always talking to daddy – nagging him about his mistakes, but also asking him what he thought all the time; telling him how to get promoted at work, yet desperately seeking his validation for the way she ran the home as well. And when he left, she transferred that even more onto Frances and me. She loved me, and I loved her, but she just didn't understand what I wanted – I wasn't quite ladylike enough for her, too introverted – and we didn't communicate with each other very well."

"You know, Laura, that's twice you've said you love Abigail…perhaps the differences between you can be healed in time, eh?"

"Of course I love her! But, I don't know…mother doesn't know she is being mother! It's like you said, so many people find her charming…it's just that to me, she always seemed so overwhelming, not supportive but judgmental. Do you remember the movie of _My Fair Lady_?"

"Of course…Rex Harrison, Audrey Hepburn, Warner Brothers, 1964. A wonderful, wonderful film…my favorite musical of all time," said Steele, with a rich smile.

"Oh, I loved it too! Well, I always wanted a mother like Henry Higgins's mother in _My Fair Lady_…there's that part where Higgins has been horrible to Eliza, and she goes to his mother's house, who is so kind to Eliza and sympathetic, even against her own son, you see? She was what I always thought of as a perfect mother."

"Have you heard the story of the cat and the lions, Laura?" asked Steele, after a while.

"No."

"Ahh…well. There was once a cat, you see, who lived with the other cats in the human village," Steele began, still running his hands through Laura's hair. "But he actually felt like he was more of a lion than a cat. And so, he began to mix with a pride of real lions that lived nearby.

"Somehow, he was able to be accepted, as the lions thought he was a lion cub – he walked with the same gait, his fur resembled that of the other cubs, and he played with them without being noticed as a cat, before returning to the village at the end of each day. Then, the cat decided to turn his back on his own kinfolk; 'I am a lion cub, not a cat' he said to them, 'from now on I will live with the lions'.

"And so, the cat was trained like a lion: to eat raw meat, to wrestle with the other young cubs, to claw and kill prey like a real lion. Then came a rite of passage for the cubs. They were sent out alone into the bush to hunt for real, given the task of bringing back their first kill.

"They returned, and all had been a credit to the pride. Each one in turn came up to the lion king with a bloody trophy clutched in their jaws, dropped their catch in front of him, and then – as if to announce their success – each gave out a loud roar. Well, the cat's turn came, and he dropped the large rat he had caught, and then opened his jaws and…out came a distinct 'miaow'. For he was, after all, a cat and not a lion. And so, the lion king sent him away, and he returned to the village, where the other cats welcomed him back into their fold."

"Hmm…" Laura purred against Steele's stomach, remembering another occasion when the storyteller in Remington had come out, the night after her old house had been blown up. "So you're saying that I've turned my back on where I came from?"

"It's just a story, Laura…but I would venture there will always be a bigger part of Abigail in you than you realize, and a bigger part of you in Abigail than she realizes."

"Uh-huh, maybe…but what if there's hardly any sympathy between us at all? We all need to feel a connection, that emotional support. I realized in Ireland that I don't want to be my mother – mooning over a man who left me fourteen years ago; but I don't want to be alone either. That's why I've been scared my whole life, I think. But, we decided – you and I – that we wanted to try and make this a real marriage, that we cared about each other but we had wasted too much time during the last four years – yes?"

"Yes…definitely, yes," answered Steele.

"So I want to take a risk now…it doesn't mean I'm not scared, but I'm not going to let it hold me back anymore. I want to feel that empathy, that closeness with you."

"We'll take that risk together, Laura."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Laura opened her eyes and yawned – one of those reflexive morning yawns which came on despite the fact that she had just awoken from a night's sleep. She glanced towards the bedroom window – the bright sunshine discernible behind the closed drapes showed that it was probably quite late in the morning already.

Beside her, Remington let out a chuckle as he also woke up. "Good morning, Mrs Steele" he said.

"Good morning. You're sounding very chipper."

Remington turned, cuddled up to her and began nuzzling the side of her face, then burrowed deeper into the crook of her neck; with his right hand, he slowly started rubbing her stomach through her very conservative, long cotton nightdress.

It had been like this for all of the preceding week – both of them hardly able to resist their desire for each other, their passion having taken on a life of its own. After they had sent Mildred home, and had finally been able to enjoy a week's genuine honeymoon at Ashford Castle – without anyone else there to interrupt them – their passion had crystallized as they had shared intense and honest conversations about their future. They had made love every night, becoming more and more acquainted with each other after the four years of their rather chaste foreplay.

But now, in her mother's house, Laura could not even think of sexual intimacy with Remington. She smiled, but put a disapproving tone in her voice, "Remington, no…stop – I mean it. Mother is only ten feet away. Please…please!" She moved his hand away and shifted her bodyweight marginally, just enough to create a little space between them.

"Ahh…" Steele sighed deeply, unhappy at being rebuffed.

"I'm sorry," said Laura in a whisper, moving back into his embrace, "but we can't do this here…it's just too awkward."

"We are married Laura. I think your mother is sufficiently aware of the facts of life to know that – well, not to put too fine a point on it – her daughter's body might not be, uhm, virgin soil anymore."

"You mean, my furrow might have been plowed?" asked Laura, with a smirk on her face.

"Delicately put…but yes. Abigail's aware of the ways of the world, you know – after all, she had two daughters herself. As special as you and Frances are, I doubt you were both immaculate conceptions."

"I know," said Laura, slightly irritated, "but I can't do it; not here – under my mother's roof! It's just too…icky!"

"Icky? Is that a technical term?"

"You know what I mean…look, I want to…touch you too. Desperately. But not here, not now, okay? Please? Let's wait until we get back home."

"Whatever you say, Mrs Steele." He hugged Laura closer for a minute, just holding her, then kissed her on the corner of her eye before he threw back the bedclothes and rose. "Are you coming?"

"You can use the bathroom first. I'll stay here for awhile." Laura then pulled the covers back over her head as Remington opened the drapes, and closed her eyes in a sort of half-sleep.

Steele showered, shaved and blow dried his hair, before dressing in a pair of beige Armani twill pants, a light blue silk shirt and a darker blue, Gant fisherman's sweater. Laura was still under the covers, so he decided not to rouse her, but left their guest suite and headed off to the kitchen.

Abigail was at the kitchen table, wearing a bright purple summer dress. She was drinking coffee and reading a newspaper. "Ah, Abigail, good morning. And may I say you look radiant this morning? What a lovely dress," Steele said expansively.

"Why, thank you Remington. But this old thing? I've had it for years," she replied, subconsciously smoothing her skirt. "There's fresh coffee in the pot; or would you prefer some tea? I have English Breakfast."

"No, no, Abigail, coffee will be fine," her replied, as he poured himself a large mug of coffee and sat opposite her at the table.

"Did you sleep well? I suppose it must be difficult to adjust to the time difference? And where is Laura – still asleep?"

"Oh, we slept fine Abigail; the Valium you gave Laura really helped her, otherwise I fear she might have woken up at the crack of dawn today. She is up, or at least, she was when I left the bedroom – she was just having a lie-in while I used the bathroom first. I am sure she'll come out soon." Steele looked at his watch, which showed it was a few minutes after nine.

"What about you? No problem adjusting to the time difference?"

"I can sleep anywhere at anytime, Abigail. It's a knack I have."

"How fortunate. That will be helpful, since I suppose you will be flying to Ireland more often now, given you have the castle to look after?"

"Oh, what do you mean?"

"Well, Laura told me the news when she called to tell me you were both coming for a visit. Imagine – you inherited a castle. An actual castle! Well, if it were me, of course, you couldn't keep me away; I'd be flying to Ireland whenever I had a free moment; and of course, I'd invite all my friends to stay there as well," Abigail said archly.

"Ah, now I understand…I think, Abigail, that there may have been a little misunderstanding. I gave the castle away, you see. So there will be no need to travel to Ireland frequently – at least, not unless Laura and I feel like a vacation."

"You gave it away? Do you mean you sold it, or that you literally gave it away? Surely, it must have been worth a lot of money?"

"No, I didn't sell it, I really did give it away. To be exact, I set up a workers cooperative, composed of all the employees of the castle and the estate. They'll run the place and share any profits they make. Did Laura tell you the background to my inheriting the castle?"

"No, not really, Remington…I am afraid Laura does not tell me very much about her life, or about you. She is not the type of person to volunteer information to her mother."

"Oh…I see. Well, I was left the castle by a…friend, I suppose you would say – the Earl of Claridge. The castle wasn't his main home; like a lot of the British aristocracy, he had property all over the place, often from when one of the family would marry someone rich who would bring another house into the portfolio, which then subsequently passed down the family line – say to younger sons – while the main house was always inherited by the eldest son along with the title. Ashford Castle was one of these minor properties.

"It may have been worth about one million pounds, but unfortunately, that was theoretical. It seems as if no one from the family had lived there for decades, and there was something like seven hundred thousand pounds of unpaid bills – a ninety-eight thousand pound heating bill alone! Well…I'm not an expert on inheritance law, so I don't know if I would have been liable for these bills, but I am sure you can see it was something of a dilemma? Perhaps I could have sold the place net of the debts; but castles are pretty…erm…specialized things, and no one was in the market for one.

"And so, I came up with the plan to give it to the employees – they'll share ownership of the property, as long as they agree to pay off the existing liabilities and share any surplus profits. You see, they're going to turn it into a luxury hotel. And, rather charmingly, they've said Laura and I are welcome to go back there for a vacation at any time we like."

"You know, Remington, I can see why Laura went to work for your agency, and…became involved with you – inheriting castles, working for the CIA: it's such an exciting life you lead…I'm not surprised you swept her off her feet, you're quite the catch," said Abigail dreamily.

"Ah, I don't know about that, Abigail. I'm the lucky one, winning Laura; as far as I'm concerned – she is the catch."

"Oh, I know, I know. If I can be very serious for a moment – and please do not think I am impugning you in any way, I know you love Laura, I can see it – but you will take care of her, won't you? Look after her?" Steele thought Abigail's eyes looked as if they might begin to water, as she continued, "Laura and I…well, we don't see eye to eye on many things; but I worry about her so – she is so sensitive really. I want her to be happy."

"Of course you do…I'll do everything I can to make her happy, Abigail – truly. You're right, of course; Laura's a modern independent woman, as sharp as a tack – but there's also a sensitive, rather vulnerable child inside her that I sometimes see…then, uhm, I just want to protect her."

"She is lucky to have you Remington. I can see you really love her. That's good; I'm afraid that she's been alone too long, and she and I – well…I think I've let her down, I haven't been a very good mother to her."

"Why would you say that? I'm sure it's not true."

"We have not been very close, there's no point disguising that fact. She was closer to her father – and perhaps Frances was closer to me – so when my ex-husband left me…well, it hit Laura hard. And I am afraid I wasn't much comfort to her, though Lord knows, I tried my best."

"Yes, from a few of the things Laura has said – watching television with her father, going to the circus with him – it seemed clear to me that they were close. She doesn't talk about him much, though."

"They were close. In fact, both the girls were close to him; you know, fathers and daughters and all that. So when he left…well, I was desperate to comfort Laura, to make sure she lived her own life and didn't…brood over her father's departure. I know children can blame themselves when their parents split up, and I didn't want her to do that…so I pushed her to look outwards, to boost her self-confidence, rather than withdraw into herself. But perhaps I pushed her too hard."

"Laura has never talked much to me about her father's leaving. Abigail if it is not…er, too personal, too painful…would you mind telling me what happened?"

"It is still painful, Remington, I admit it…but I don't mind talking about it – you are one of the family now, after all. And I think it will help you to understand Laura better. You see, when…"

Just as she was about to continue, they both heard the sound of the guest room door opening and Laura's steps in the hallway. Quickly pulling apart and adjusting their positions, both Steele and Abigail implicitly drew a line under the conversation.

"Good morning mother, good morning Remington," said Laura, kissing Remington on the cheek – something which she did not ordinarily do. He wondered if it was done for her mother's benefit. She was wearing a pale blue, flower patterned, long Laura Ashley 'tea' dress, with a round neckline and short, capped sleeves that showed off her toned arms. Her hair, pushed back from her face, hung loosely about her shoulders most alluringly.

Laura sensed immediately that she had interrupted their conversation. "What's going on?" she asked warily.

"Good morning, darling," responded Abigail brightly. "Remington and I were just chatting. Now that you're up, how about some breakfast for all of us? I have some lovely Canadian bacon, and I was going to make pancakes."

"That sounds like a beguiling notion," said Steele. "Let me help you."

"Oh no, you're a guest."

"Nonsense, Abigail – two pairs of hands make lighter work! I insist."

"Let him help, mother," added Laura. "He's an irritatingly accomplished cook."

"Well, if you're sure."

"That's the ticket," said Steele, rubbing his hands together, as they both rose and went over to the stove. "Let me show you my trick for making pancakes, Abigail. Now, do you have a jug?"

"A jug?"

"Yes, a jug…you know, a pitcher. And an extra bowl as well, please." Once she had fetched them, he continued, "How do you make your pancakes – you just mix up the batter, I suppose?"

"Well, yes," answered his mother-in-law, as she set about removing dry goods from various shelves and pulled out eggs, bacon and milk from the refrigerator.

Steele, with one hand raised and a finger pointed at the ceiling like a college professor, began, "Watch and learn…You see, first we separate the eggs and put the whites into this bowl and the yolks into the jug. Now, we add in the other ingredients to the yolks – flour, salt, sugar, some baking powder, milk – and mix them into a smooth batter. Not bad – but here's the trick: whisk the egg whites until they're fluffy, then fold them into the batter – just so. And hey presto – the lightest, airiest pancake batter one could wish for. And of course, it's in a jug, so you just pour the batter out onto your griddle, with less mess than if you were using a ladle."

"Wonderful," said Abigail, genuinely impressed.

She began cooking crisp bacon, while Steele started churning out a production line of small, thick pancakes, the two of them standing side-by-side at the stove in hearty companionship. Laura watched them, thinking that her new husband had, yet again, shown what a 'people person' he was, how easily he formed a connection with those he met – unlike herself.

When they had finished cooking, Laura laid the table and then all three enjoyed their rustic breakfast of pancakes, bacon, maple syrup and more of Abigail's homemade blueberry pie.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Laura parked her mother's borrowed Ford Escort outside her grandmother's home. It was another tract house in the Chico suburbs, smaller than her mother's, one story with just a small frontage on the street, dominated by a gable end that showed the window of the family room looking out over the front yard. A white picket fence topped by laurel bushes surrounded the whole property.

She and Remington had spent the morning with Abigail at home, reading Chico's Sunday newspaper, the _Enterprise-Record_, listening to Laura's favorite _Saint Paul Sunday_ classical music show on National Public Radio, and engaged in casual conversation with her mother. Although there had seemed to be less tension between Laura and Abigail than on the previous day, Steele had felt himself constantly alert to the possibility of a cross word or flaring temper on Laura's part, and had felt compelled to play the role of referee in case that happened.

They had given Abigail a detailed recounting of their honeymoon adventures in Ireland – American agents, Russian spies and Daniel Chalmers's passing away included, although neither mentioned the revelation that he had been Remington's biological father. The story had left Abigail breathlessly excited, but also sad at Daniel's death. She had met him once in 1983, and had been wined and dined by him for a few exhilarating days during a case when Remington and Laura had been protecting him from a man named Hoskins.

Abigail had been genuinely interested in their narrative. For a long time after Laura had joined Havenhurst, she had been at a loss to understand her daughter's chosen career. Laura was the first girl in their family to go to college – Stanford, no less, on a full scholarship – and had graduated _summa cum laude_; yet she had eschewed the usual career track of a math graduate of CPA or perhaps, banker, in order to become a trainee detective. But in recent years, Abigail had gained a better appreciation of what Laura did and the work of Remington Steele Investigations. Indeed, she had – much to her delight – even become embroiled in one or two of Remington and Laura's adventures.

With Abigail due at her regular, Sunday afternoon bridge party with her circle of friends, she had suggested that Laura and Remington visit Laura's grandmother, who had been waiting impatiently for Laura's visit. And so, Laura and her new husband now found themselves outside her grandmother's door.

Steele noticed that Laura was much more relaxed waiting for her grandmother to open the door than she had been when waiting for her mother the previous day. "Your relationship with your grandmother – is it better than with your mother?" he asked.

"Oh yes…grandmother is wonderful. She's the one who gave me my piano when I was little. She's nobody's fool, though, so be on your best behavior, please!"

"Why Mrs Steele, don't you trust me?" he asked slyly, to which Laura gave him a glaring look.

"Erm…why have you never introduced me to your grandmother before, Laura?" asked Steele. "When we visited Chico last year, she didn't come to Abigail's house for Thanksgiving – which seems a little odd now – and you didn't visit her as far as I know."

"No, you're right. She spent last Thanksgiving with her friends at the Senior Citizen Center, which was her choice. But…I did stay away from her while you and I were up here. I suppose…well, we – you and I – were still inching our way back together after…William Westfield and that stuff in London. There were some parts of my life I wanted to keep private from you. In fact, there have always been some things, since I've known you, that I've wanted to keep private to different degrees. I was always a bit wary of losing myself in you."

"Oh, I see." Steele looked hurt, despite his self-awareness of his own less than stellar record of honesty and openness.

Laura laid a hand on his arm comfortingly. "Look, Remington…I am, er, sorry; please don't feel hurt, okay? But our relationship – it's always been a little febrile, you know? Sometimes I couldn't bring myself to reveal everything about myself to you. Just in order to protect myself. Do you understand?"

Steele touched her hand reassuringly, but before he could speak, the door opened and Laura's grandmother appeared.

"Well, Miss Laura Holt! What a wonderful surprise for a lady in her dotage to see her granddaughter again…or should I call you Mrs Remington Steele?" said the older woman with a smile, as Laura stepped forward and hugged her. "Oh, my darling, it's so good to see you."

"Grandmother, it's good to be back here again with you. I've missed you."

Steele watched the scene; there was a real warmth between them. Mrs Wood was a small woman, shorter than Laura and slightly built, just as Abigail and Laura were – it seemed to be a trait amongst the women of the Holt line. Her hair, pinned in a bun at the back of her head, was a mixture of dark blond and gray – she had not turned fully gray – and the similarities with Abigail's coloring were clear. She had a narrow, lined face that told of someone in the twilight years of their life. She had leaned her black, metal walking stick against the door frame while she embraced her granddaughter.

"Are you alright? How is your arthritis?" asked Laura.

"Laura, old age is something to be endured, as you'll find out one day – but I mustn't complain, my arthritis is a small price to pay. Now…" she said, turning towards Steele, "You must be Remington Steele? My goodness, he's a tall one, isn't he Laura? Taller than Donald, I think? Well, young man…you'll have to stoop down here."

Steele had turned on his brightest, most dazzling smile, ready to charm Laura's beloved grandmother. He bent down and, holding her shoulders, they exchanged kisses on both cheeks. "It is truly a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Wood," he said.

"Call me Kitty, everyone does. Now, come through into the kitchen, why don't you? No need for formality here."

They entered a large combined kitchen and dining room at the back of the house, furnished in a country cottage look, with red tiled floors, pink gingham drapes, shaker style units and a large china hutch against one wall. The center of the room was dominated by a pinewood table, where Steele and Laura sat. Mrs Wood set about making coffee, slowly moving about the kitchen using her stick, until Laura got up and insisted on helping her.

As she served the coffee and passed around fudge brownies, Kitty said, "Laura, I must say, you really managed to spring a surprise here last month when you telephoned Abigail and told her you got married. Mercy me, it was like the Fourth of July and Christmas rolled into one – Abigail called Frances, neither of them knew anything about it and of course, when they called me, I didn't know anything either. You should have been here to hear all the fevered speculation; if I had been trying to make mischief, I couldn't have done it better!" She gave a throaty laugh.

"Now, I have no doubt Abby has already given you the third degree, and I will hear all about it later from her, but give me your side of the story…why the elopement and sudden wedding without telling anyone?"

Laura had the rehearsed story ready, which she and Remington had agreed beforehand. She felt some guilt in lying to her grandmother, but rationalized to herself that the falsehood would be more palatable for her than the truth. "Oh, grandmother, you can guess what it would have been like…so…so…overwhelming! I didn't want a fancy wedding with all the extras – you know, dressed in a huge gown that made me look like a meringue. So we just did it."

"How…what happened, exactly? Do you want milk?"

"Thank you," said Remington.

Laura continued, "Well, we were standing by the car and Remington just said 'Let's get married' and I said, 'Yes'. So we went to City Hall and picked up an expedited license, got some blood tests and were married by six o'clock that evening."

"And who was there – I mean, you must have had guests or a witness, surely?"

"Only our assistant in the office – well, she's a friend actually, far more than just our assistant – Mildred."

"Well, Laura…I approve. If you and your charming young man here wanted to do it quietly, then it's ultimately your business. But I'm sure I don't have to tell you, your mother was not happy…Can't say I blame her, either…no easy answer to the question, really. I can't deny I would have liked to be at your wedding. You should try to please others – we all should – but only if it doesn't interfere with pleasing ourselves; in the end, you need to do things your way and not worry about what other people think too much."

"My philosophy exactly, Kitty," said Remington, in a smooth manner.

"Well, you must both be ecstatic. The wedding was on the…eighth of May, I recall, so it's been just over – three weeks? So, still in the honeymoon period, are you?" she asked with a fruity chuckle.

"Oh yes, I think so, grandmother," responded Laura. "Yes, we're happy."

"You think so? You don't sound very enthusiastic, do you, my dear?" said Kitty waspishly. "You're not regretting it, are you? Marry in haste and repent at leisure, and all that…"

Laura sipped her coffee. "No, no, grandmother. It's just that…well – mother was rather unhappy, and she made that abundantly clear yesterday when we arrived. She was a little better this morning at breakfast, but I can't help thinking that the whole thing – getting married on the spur of the moment – might have been a mistake. I feel so guilty, like I've desperately let her down again," ended Laura grimly.

Kitty grasped Laura's hand. "Sweetheart, if you ever have children of your own, you will come to realize that it's inevitable that there are misunderstandings between parents and children. You know, when they're born they're so…helpless, so tiny, yet our children are the center of our world. If you haven't experienced it you cannot understand, but your world – I mean anyone who becomes a parent – suddenly changes. And then as they grow up, sometimes it is hard to realize that your children have different ideas and aspirations.

"Don't be too hard on Abigail, my dear…she loves you very much. You know, I remember when you gave up being a dental hygienist and became a detective a few years ago…" Laura looked baffled at these words, while Steele repressed a smile. "Your mother came back from visiting you positively gushing with praise about you, Laura. She was so proud of you…of the way you, and Remington here, caught the person who stole that painting and killed those people. She told me the whole story. I was proud of you as well; I always thought you were too clever to be dental assistant. I'm glad your boss here recognized your talents and gave you a job."

"Erm…thank you, grandmother," said a still confused Laura.

Mrs Wood continued, "And sometimes differences between mothers and daughters…as I said, they're inevitable. I don't suppose you've ever talked to Abby about her work before she married, have you?"

"No, no, not in detail; I know she worked in an aircraft factory, where she met daddy."

"That's right. When your mother graduated high school in 1944, she wanted to go and work in the famous Lockheed factory. Well, you can imagine, her father and I were very reluctant – it was not the kind of thing our daughter ought to do, you see? All those blue collar girls, smoking, talking about Betty Grable's sweater and going to dances with GIs…"

"So what happened?" asked Remington.

"Well, Abby was eighteen and determined. Despite our objections, she went to work there…caught the bus to Burbank everyday. Did it for four years. And she was right…the war effort needed workers, and Abigail wanted to play her part, helping make planes for our boys. Her father and I were sticks in the mud to object – I realized later that the mistake was ours. So don't worry about Abigail, Laura, she'll come around eventually…I'll make sure of it."

"Thank you grandmother," said Laura, clasping both Kitty's hands in hers.

"It's curious," said Remington, munching on a brownie, "but every generation seems to have its struggles with the one before…mothers and daughters, fathers and sons…"

The front door bell rang, and Kitty slowly rose and went to answer it. She returned a couple of minutes later followed by a young woman and a little girl.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"Laura, dear," said Mrs Wood, "this is my neighbor Brandi-Ann and her daughter Kelly. Brandi-Ann: this is my granddaughter Laura, and her husband Remington Steele. They are visiting me from Los Angeles."

"Hello," said Laura, while Steele nodded and smiled in greeting.

"Hi," said the young woman, who looked no more than twenty-five. She had long black hair which had been blow dried into a huge, bouffant style, and was wearing acid washed jeans and a lime green sweatshirt. The little girl was about six years old, and also had long black hair like her mother, held in a simple ponytail.

"Brandi-Ann and Kelly have a problem," said Laura's grandmother. "It seems that their kitten, Pollyanna, has gone missing; they would like to search the backyard."

"Oh, that's a shame," said Laura. "What does she look like?"

"Oh, she's like, totally black," said Brandi-Ann. "We never let her out, you know, because she's only four weeks old, and for a kitten that young, there's a lot of danger and whatnot out there."

Laura rose from her seat and went and squatted down by the young girl. "I have a black cat too. His name's Nero. He's a boy cat." The little girl nodded. "I'm sure you'll find Pollyanna."

Mrs Wood had opened the door. "Well, Brandi-Ann, please have a look around the backyard. In fact, I think Laura might be able to help you. This type of thing sounds just in her line."

"Oh, that's okay. I didn't want to interrupt your visit or whatnot."

"Don't worry about that my dear, finding Kelly's kitten is more important – isn't it Kelly?" she asked, giving the little girl a cheerful smile of reassurance. "Now my granddaughter is a detective, would you believe; I think she could really be helpful in finding Pollyanna – you wouldn't mind, would you Laura?"

Laura, caught off guard, hesitated before replying, "Er, no grandmother, not at all."

The little girl spoke for the first time now, looking Laura in the eye with a serious face. "Are you really a detective? Like Kelly Garrett? I was named after her."

"Yes, I suppose so. I work as a private investigator in Los Angeles, which is a lot like Kelly Garrett. Actually, I work with my…er…husband, Mr Steele over there," said Laura, stumbling over the still unfamiliar word as she pointed towards Remington. "Darling," trilled Laura in her perkiest 'Mr and Mrs Blaine' tone of voice, "you will come and help us look for Kelly's missing kitten, won't you?"

Steele, puzzled as to who Kelly Garrett was, groaned inwardly, but kept the beatific smile on his face as he made to get up. "Of course, Laura, of course. I am sure we'll have the creature back in no time."

"I don't think that's necessary," said Kitty, turning away from the back door and sitting at the table, more or less trapping Remington in his seat. "Remington, you stay here, and you and I can have a little chat while Laura helps Brandi-Ann and Kelly. You don't mind, do you Laura? I want to get to know this young man of yours better."

"Erm..okay, sure. I'll go and help look for the kitten, grandmother."

"Oh, thanks, that's totally awesome of you to help," said Brandi-Ann, as she led her daughter and Laura out the back door.

Standing on the paved area immediately outside the back door, Laura glanced around. Her grandmother's yard was extremely bare; just grass, with a chain link fence on three sides and a single wooden bird table in the center. "Are you sure the kitten came in here?" asked Laura.

"I don't know," replied the young woman. "We never let her outside of the house because she's so young and whatnot. But we haven't seen her since way early this morning. The only thing we thought was like, maybe she got out and through the fence."

Laura strolled a little way into the plain yard. "Well, there's nowhere that a kitten could be hiding, there's just no cover. You said she's black, right? About how big is she?"

"She's about this big," said the little girl, holding her hands apart to indicate the rough size of a baseball. "Mommy, Pollyanna must be so scared…we've got to find her mommy!"

"We will, sweetheart, we will," said Brandi-Ann to her daughter.

"Well, look…Brandi-Ann, isn't it?" The other woman nodded. "There is obviously nowhere for the kitten – for Pollyanna – to hide here in my grandmother's yard. If you are sure she couldn't get out to the street in front, then I think you need to go back and search your own yard again, and that of your neighbor on the other side. Have you looked there yet?"

"No, I came to Kitty's first. I guess I should go see my other neighbor, huh?"

"I'll come with you," said Laura, as the three of them exited her grandmother's yard through the side gate and made their way back to Brandi-Ann's own gate. "Okay, why don't I search your yard again, and you go and speak with your neighbor on that side, and see if the kitten – Pollyanna – is there?"

"Sure thing. Listen, could I leave Kelly here with you?"

"Uhm…okay, if you like."

"Kelly," the young woman said to her daughter, "now I'm going to go look for Pollyanna next door. You stay here with Laura, okay? And don't leave this yard at all, alright? Just stay with Laura."

"Don't worry, I'll keep an eye on her," said Laura, as Brandi-Ann went off next door. She turned to the little girl and crouched down to bring herself eye to eye with her. "Kelly, let's search your yard again, okay? Now, I want you to take that side, and get right in there inside those bushes and amongst the plants, okay? Pollyanna is really small, so it might be possible that your mom didn't see her before. I'll go look on this side. And be careful around the rose bushes – we don't want you to scratch yourself on any thorns."

The silent little girl nodded, then headed off to the right side of the yard and into the bushes. Laura headed to the left side. Brandi-Ann, or whoever had owned the house before, had heavily planted the backyard, in contrast to her grandmother's plain garden. The two sides and the rear of the yard, in front of the chain link fence, contained large beds which were a jungle of different plants: tall roses, laurel bushes, colorful hydrangeas, cactus grasses – everything fighting for space, for the smallest patch of unused soil.

Laura squatted low and searched thoroughly, lifting leaves, pulling aside shrubs and looking under overhanging, waist-high grasses. She looked over her shoulder and saw Kelly doing the same on the other side. After a couple of minutes, Laura came out of the undergrowth and headed towards the rear of the yard. She plunged in, searching again. In the rear right corner of the yard, hidden amongst the bushes of the plant beds, Laura spotted a red ribbon next to a heavy metal grating. She stooped and picked it up: it was a tiny ribbon with a small silver bell on it.

"Kelly," she called. The girl popped out of the bushes she had been searching and joined Laura. "Do you recognize this?"

"It's Pollyanna's," said Kelly excitedly. "Where did you find it?"

Laura turned back to the grating. It looked like a storm drain. The opening was about twelve inches square, and the bars, which ran in only one direction rather than being criss-cross, were thick – at least an inch for each one. The spaces between the bars were small – only about two inches. All in all, the drain cover was more metal than actual space.

"Kelly, run to the fence and call your mom from next door, okay?"

Laura watched the girl go and call her mother, then bent down and put her eye to the grating. It was dark and she could not see anything. "Here kitty," she called. There was no response.

When Brandi-Ann came back, Laura explained to her, "Kelly and I searched the whole yard, right into all this heavy planting. No sign of the kitten, until I found this ribbon and bell right by this storm drain – are they the kitten's?"

"Oh yeah, totally."

"Well then, it looks like she might have fallen down this drain. We'll have to take the cover off and have a look. Help me, will you?"

The two women inserted their fingers into the narrow gaps between the thick bars and lifted the drain cover off. As Laura had suspected, it was very heavy and it took both of them to move it. The opening was twelve inches square. Laura stuck her head in, but could not see the bottom – it was dark, despite the bright sun of the day, and the drain was deep.

"I can't see the bottom – do you have a flashlight?"

"Sure." Brandi-Ann went in the house and came back with a flashlight, which she handed to Laura. Using it, Laura stuck her head in the hole again. At the bottom, about six feet down, she saw a shape move. "Here kitty, kitty," she said. Shining the light down, it hit the eyes of a frightened looking, tiny black kitten. It miaowed.

"Well, Pollyanna's in there," said Laura. "The question is how to get her out – it's too deep for me to reach down, at least six feet. Have a look."

Brandi-Ann took the light and put her head in the hole. "That's totally strange, I can't understand how she could fall through those bars; they're only like, two inches wide from each other."

"True. Call it one of life's mysteries. What we need now is something to lower down there so that we can pull her out. Do you have a basket in the house, which we could use to get her out?"

"Maybe. Wanna come look?"

Laura followed Brandi-Ann and her daughter into the kitchen. Brandi-Ann then disappeared into the front part of the house, and Laura could hear her opening and closing closets. She reappeared bearing a wicker picnic basket. "That's too big, I'm afraid; at least fifteen inches long," Laura told her. "It won't fit into the hole. Do you have anything else? How about a pot, maybe, from the kitchen?"

"Yeah, I think I might." Brandi-Ann went to a cupboard and rummaged in it, emerging with a small, black Dutch oven with a handle for hanging over open fires. It was made of thick cast iron, but was only eight inches wide at most.

"That's perfect," said Laura, thinking to herself that the Dutch oven probably only held a very small quantity of stew or chili. "Now, how about a rope to tie around the handle?"

"Oh…I don't think we've got any rope."

"Well…do you have an electrical extension, maybe? We could use that. And we'll need some cat food."

"Oh wow, totally great idea Laura! Sure." Brandi-Ann disappeared for a moment and returned with a long electrical cord.

Laura tied it around the handle of the Dutch oven. She spooned a large blob of cat food into the bottom of the pot. Then, all three of them made their way back to the storm drain.

"Okay," said Laura, "I'm going to lower this pot down into the hole. You need to put your head in there and use the flashlight to tell me what's going on, okay? Talk to Pollyanna. Try and persuade her to go for the food. And as soon as she gets into the pot, let me know, and I'll pull her up."

Watched by the silent, apprehensive Kelly, Laura lowered the pot into the hole. She could hear Brandi-Ann's 'come on sweetie, come on girl' as she tried to persuade the frightened kitten to jump into the Dutch oven. After a few minutes, Brandi-Ann shouted a signal to pull.

Laura pulled steadily but slowly, not wanting to scare the animal. After five or six hand-over-hand jerks, the pot emerged from the black hole, with the head of the frightened kitten sticking out of the top of it, still smeared around the whiskers with cat food.

"Yay," screamed Kelly, as she dove for her pet and hugged it close to her.

"Wow, you totally did it Laura," said Brandi-Ann, a massive grin on her face. "Thank you so much!"

"That's okay. Why don't we put this cover back on the drain?"

Laura and Brandi-Ann maneuvered the drain cover back over the opening, and then all three returned to the house. At the back door, Kelly turned and, pulling Laura down to her level, kissed her cheek. "Thank you, Laura."

"Oh, that's okay, Kelly. It was my pleasure."

"Go inside now, Kelly," said her mother. Turning to Laura, she said, "Thank you so much. Kelly has become so attached to that kitten and whatnot, I think it would have been hard on her if we hadn't found it."

Laura started moving towards the side gate, accompanied by Brandi-Ann. "Have you lived here long? You seemed to know my grandmother quite well, but I am sure we have never met before."

"Oh, we moved here about six months ago. I got divorced, you know, and well – Kitty has been totally helpful since we came here. She baby-sits Kelly after school when I have to work late or whatnot. She's been such a good friend."

"Oh, really? It sounds like her; my grandmother is a wonderful, kind person. I guess it must have been tough on Kelly, seeing her parents divorce?"

"Yeah, totally. I think that's why she's so attached to that kitten and whatnot; it's like a love substitute, you know?"

"It must be hard being a lone parent. Does Kelly see her father?"

"Sure, she sees him like, once a week. He has visitation rights. But…it's real hard being a single parent, real expensive and whatnot. Sometimes I wish I hadn't got married, you know? Then at least, I wouldn't have all the troubles I got now."

"Oh, I hope it's not that bad…Kelly is a lovely child."

"Oh, she's totally the light of my life. But, you know, if I knew at eighteen what I know now…I guess I'm saying, marriage is hard, divorce is hard – but then, being single's hard as well, ha, ha!"

"Well, Brandi-Ann, good luck. I hope I'll see you around the next time I visit my grandmother." The two women hugged, then Laura exited through the gate and made her way back to her grandmother's back door, lost in thought.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

After Laura, the neighbor and her daughter had gone outside, Mrs Wood smiled at Steele. "Now, what's left of this coffee has gone cold; why don't you make another pot, if you wouldn't mind?" She laughed, "My legs make it a little hard for me to move around too much these days."

"Of course," said Steele, rising. He went to the machine, filled it with water and coffee from the can and set it brewing. As he stood by the kitchen counter, Laura's grandmother began speaking.

"So Remington, you're something of a mystery, aren't you? Why don't you tell me about yourself?"

Steele, always uncomfortable talking about himself, smiled engagingly. "Kitty, there's not much to tell, really. All rather mundane, I'm afraid."

"Oh, I doubt that, my boy. Laura's told me a little, and of course, so has Abby; but I'd like to hear it from the horse's mouth, so to speak. What about your family – how did they take the news of your marriage?"

He steeled himself to talk about his past, something that he normally hated to do. "Ah…I'm afraid I, er, don't have any family, Kitty. An orphan, you see. I would be intrigued to know what Laura said about me, though. She never really mentioned talking to you."

"An orphan? How sad! And Laura's told me you're English – you do have that beautiful accent! I've heard it's a wonderful country, although I've never been there. I'm afraid to say I've never been outside America."

Steele, seeing that his diversionary tactic had not worked, surmised that the family matriarch would be quite tenacious when she wanted to be. He picked up the freshly filled coffee pot and sat down once again at the table, pouring cups for both of them before answering.

"Yes…I grew up in London, although I was actually born in Ireland. And I've lived in a lot of places since; you could say that I'm a mongrel."

"It must have been terribly hard growing up an orphan? Did you ever know your parents?"

"Erm…unfortunately – no, Kitty. I never knew my mother or father growing up; I was bounced around from aunts to cousins and then back again, and lived here and there, as one does."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"No, no, please don't feel too sorry for me. It was a long time ago. One moves on with life – onto the next chapter of the book; no use picking over the past, eh?"

"It isn't always so easy, Remington; sometimes the past can haunt a person."

"You're thinking of Laura and her father?"

"Yes, but of Abigail and Frances too. I'm afraid these…traumatic events – well, they can sometimes have hard consequences for years afterwards."

"It depends on the person, of course," said Steele, somewhat pensively.

"And how did you become a detective, of all things? I mean to say, it's such a very unusual profession – thrilling, but unusual."

"Oh, I kind of got into it sideways."

"I can't say I've ever encountered a real detective before – other than Laura – and she works for you and owes it all to you, doesn't she? I've always thought of detectives as existing in the pages of a book, or in the movies; yet here you are, a real life Philip Marlowe!"

"Ha, ha," chuckled Steele. "It's, uhm, not really like the books, Kitty. Most of it is legwork – plowing through information, looking for clues, that kind of thing. Being a detective can be dull sometimes – just like anything else – but there are occasional moments where the excitement can make up for the dull days."

"I've no doubt you're just being honest, but one likes to think their romantic notions have a grain of truth in them. Life would be so dull without a little romance in it sometimes, wouldn't it? Laura's told me some of it – she said you had a brilliant intuition, which is what had made you such a success as a detective."

"I can see she's told you rather more about me than she told me about you. It's a shame we've never met before, Kitty, I must say."

"As I am sure you know, Remington, she can be a little…guarded. Over the last year or two, Laura said she didn't want me to meet you just yet; at that time she was…a little unsure about your future together. I hope you don't mind my saying that? When a person is just entering into a love affair, well – caution is rather natural, isn't it?"

"Of course, of course. And Laura really said she thought I had brilliant intuition?"

Kitty chuckled, "You sound surprised."

"Not surprised, as such…But, Laura isn't the most effusive person when it comes to voicing her feelings."

"I think she and I have always had a special bond – perhaps because she was the baby of the family. She's always confided in me, even when she has sometimes found it hard to communicate with Abby."

This revelation was the sort of information that in the past Steele would have filed away in his memory, a weapon to use at some future date. He was oddly aware that he didn't feel that urge today, here with Laura's grandmother. "Really, it's Laura who's the brilliant one," he continued. "She has a very logical mind, and is very much in charge of things at the agency."

"How generous of you Remington. So many husbands – so many men – would never give their wives such credit. But I can see that you've already learned the secret of a good marriage: it's when a man and a woman both agree to love and honor each other – and the wife is in charge!" Kitty laughed heartily at her own joke, as Steele chuckled along with her. "You know, ever since I learned about Laura's new job – and about you – I've always looked out for news about you both. You're rather well known, in fact; I've got all your clippings."

"Really? You have clippings about me?" asked Steele, his natural vanity aroused.

"Oh yes. Would you like to see them?"

"I'd be delighted, Kitty; if you don't mind?"

"Of course not." Mrs Wood rose and left the room, waving away Remington's attempt to offer assistance. She returned a couple of minutes later bearing a large blue photograph album. "This is my recent family album, Remington. Please have a look."

Steele opened the book and flicked through it. He saw it contained various family heirlooms: a pressed flower; a lock of dark hair; a copy of Frances and Donald's wedding invitation; the announcement of the birth of their first child, Daniel. There were also many photographs of the family – an old one of the Wood-Holt women pictured together at the Grand Canyon; what looked like Laura's high school graduation photograph, showing her impossibly young looking and with center-parted hair; more recent photographs of the Piper family and of the three Piper children. And later in the book, Steele saw newspaper clippings of various headlines referring to himself or to the agency; occasionally, when Laura was in a photograph, the caption had been emphasized with a highlighter pen. He noticed there were no photographs of Laura's father at all, however.

"It's rather fascinating, Kitty," he said. "Thank you for sharing it with me. I can see you really dote on Laura."

"I think you're right. I taught Laura to play the piano, you know. Of course, I love Frances dearly – both my granddaughters are so precious to me. But sometimes in families the youngest child's voice is only heard at the periphery of things. Abigail and Frances are more confident; Laura was always rather quieter – studious, with a bit of a temper if roused, but, oh so kind and thoughtful. In a way, becoming a detective seems very appropriate – helping people with their problems."

"I knew you gave her her piano. She loves music so – she often turns on a classical station on the radio, and she loves listening to _Saint Paul Sunday_. But she never told me that you taught her to play."

"Ah, well, in my day, you see, playing music was an important accomplishment for a girl. I'm sorry to say that playing the piano acceptably is one of my few talents in life. I rather envy today's young women, like Frances and Laura, and the choices they have – a career, or a family, or even both."

"Do I sense some regrets, Kitty? Please, tell me it's none of my business if I am prying; perhaps that was too personal a question?"

"Not at all…Do I have some regrets about the past, about chances missed? I would say – perhaps I used to. But when you get to my age, Remington, you stop having regrets – if for no other reason than you cannot remember them anymore." Kitty chuckled at her own joke. "But, make no mistake, the most important thing ultimately – the most rewarding thing I did – was to be a wife and mother and grandmother, and I have no regrets about that. Every time I look at Abby or Frances or Laura, I'm reminded of what's really important in life: family."

"Hmm…I am sure you're right, Kitty. I'm not much of an expert on family life. For a long time…well, I suppose I rather avoided those things – at least avoided thinking about them too much. It's only since I met Laura that they came into perspective for me." Steele laughed self-deprecatingly, surprised at how much he was opening up to this older woman that he had never met before. "Am I making any sense, or just talking nonsense?"

"You are making sense. Remember, you're not the first, Remington, and you won't be the last person to be reticent about love. Laura, as well…she's told me so before this. I think it was the effect of her father leaving, of course. I'm so glad she met you – she needed someone. And now that I've met you, I can see that you're that someone."

Steele found himself unaccountably moved by the words, knowing that they came from Laura's most beloved relative. He swallowed involuntarily, then took a swig of coffee to distract his attention for a moment.

"It's very kind of you to say so, Kitty," he continued. "Laura and I…well, our relationship took rather a long time to get off the ground. It was not only her fault, of course – far from it, I bear a lot of the responsibility as well. But Laura – well, she always seemed a bit of a…worrywart, eh? I always thought she kept her feelings bottled up inside herself, perhaps because she was emotionally fragile."

Kitty looked at him sympathetically, then reached out and touched his hand for a moment. "Not fragile, Remington; cautious, perhaps, even vulnerable – but never fragile.

"The Wood women – the Holt women, if you like – have often had to cope without a man. You know about Abigail's divorce, of course; but I became a widow at a relatively young age as well. But I believe we're strong, Remington! And that includes Laura.

"Let Laura be your helpmeet. If you show her you need her, that you love her, my boy, you'll both be infinitely the stronger for it. Kipling once said that there are two types of women – those that give strength to a man and those that take it away; if you let her, Laura will be a source of infinite strength to you, believe me."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

There was a knock on the back door and then it cracked open six inches, as Kitty, Laura and Steele turned to look from the kitchen table, where they were still chatting. Laura's mother's head appeared in the gap, seeming disconnected from an actual human body. "You hoo, it's only me," she said, as she pushed the door open further. "I'm not interrupting, am I?"

"Of course you're not, Abby. Come in," said Kitty.

"Mother, what are you doing here?" asked Laura.

"Oh, one of the girls gave me a lift here after we finished our bridge party. After all, since you've got my car, I suspected you would still be here – so I thought I would come and join the fun. You don't mind, do you, Laura?"

"No, no, of course not. But if you needed your car…"

"Oh no, not at all, dear. It's just that I did not feel like going home alone when I knew the three of you would be here."

Remington smiled warmly as Abigail sat down. She was wearing a mauve twin set, black skirt and black, mid-heeled courts. "Well, the more the merrier, eh?" he said. "Here, allow me to pour you a cup of coffee, Abigail."

"Oh, thank you, Remington."

"And how was your bridge game?" asked Kitty.

"Thank you mother, it was fine. The girls asked after you, of course; you have promised to attend more often – they do wish you would come."

"I'm getting too old for bridge, Abby; at my age, you start to forget the tricks," Kitty said with a hearty chuckle.

Abigail smiled, but looked as if she disapproved of her mother's pawky humor. "So, Remington, Laura, what have you been up to all afternoon? Conspiring with mother, no doubt?"

"No conspiring required, just catching up. I haven't seen grandmother in quite a while, you know."

"Well, I know dear. I am sure your grandmother was delighted to see you, just as I was. But really, Laura, if you came to visit us more than every six months, then you wouldn't feel the need to catch up, would you?"

Laura's face flushed, but before she could say anything Steele jumped in, prepared to head off any tension between mother and daughter. "You are right, of course, Abigail. Laura – and I – are busy in Los Angeles, it's true, but, er…there is no excuse ultimately for taking family for granted, is there? Laura's grandmother and I were just discussing the importance of family earlier this afternoon; so you are absolutely correct – Laura and I will be determined to come up to Chico more frequently in future!"

"Oh Remington, how wonderful – you are so understanding," replied a mollified Abigail.

"I agree with the sentiment," said Kitty. She took hold of Laura's hand across the table. "Laura, I so miss you – and Frances as well – so if you are able to come up to Chico more often, it would make this old lady very happy. And bring this handsome husband of yours with you," she said with a laugh, looking over at Remington.

"Grandmother, of course I miss you – and you, mother. It's only Los Angeles, a few hundred miles, in one way; but it seems so far in another. What I mean is: Remington and I will come up more often – that's a promise!"

"Hmm…Well, now that we are here," said Steele, "why don't you allow Laura and me to take you to dinner this evening? As a special thank you to you both for your hospitality. And of course, as a celebration as well – for Laura's and my marriage."

"Will there be time, my boy? When are you and Laura leaving? What are your plans?"

"Oh, I think much later tonight, Kitty; we are taking the train, actually."

"Yes, mother," jumped in Abigail. "It was my suggestion – I thought Remington and Laura might enjoy a more relaxing journey than flying, and Laura agreed with me. They are booked on the Coast Starlight tonight."

"Abby, that was an inspiration. I must say I approve. Remington, Laura – I'm sure you'll enjoy the train immensely – of course, the thing does leave Chico at an ungodly hour…"

"Well after midnight, I'm afraid," supplied Abigail.

"…But tomorrow, when it's winding its way down the west coast route – well, the scenery is just amazing. Abby and I took the train several years ago, but I have never forgotten it."

"It does sound wonderful, Kitty. I think it gets into LA early tomorrow evening – not too late. But now, ladies – I repeat my invitation – allow Laura and me to take you both to dinner."

"There must be a good restaurant in this town?" asked Laura.

"Well, it's not Los Angeles, darling," replied Abigail. "It is nearly the end of the school year, of course, which makes things a little easier – far less crowded, as most of the students have left. I suppose there is always La Hacienda?"

"What's La Hacienda?" asked Laura. "A Mexican place, I take it?"

"Yes," answered her mother. "I would suppose it is the best known restaurant in Chico – it's been going for decades. But really, it's – well, rather ordinary: tacos, chilli, enchiladas – that kind of thing. Not really somewhere to go for a celebration, as such."

"That's alright, Abigail – Laura and I are not fussy: no pretensions here!" said Steele.

"I don't think I could approve of Mexican food today – I'm not sure my digestive system could take it anymore," chuckled Kitty. She had been listening to the conversation, but now the matriarch gently but firmly took charge. "Remington: we are most grateful for your invitation. But, this is a special occasion – I think, in a way, it's more appropriate for the family to celebrate it at home, together. So, let's have an old fashioned, Sunday night dinner."

"Perhaps you're right, mother," said Abigail. "Well, shall we head over to my house, then, and I'll make dinner?"

Kitty shook her head. "No need for that Abby; we'll have dinner here."

"Can you cook grandmother? I mean – with your arthritis? Perhaps we should go to mother's house?"

"Nonsense, Laura. It's true I do not cook as often as I used to. Your mother is very kind to me – you know, she prepares several meals for me each weekend, packs them in containers and brings them over and puts them in the refrigerator, so all I have to do is heat them up. But I can still look after myself when I need to – I can certainly prepare dinner tonight. And Abby will help me – won't you?"

"Oh, certainly, of course, mother."

"Well, I shall help as well, then," added Steele.

"You can cook?" asked Kitty, with a smile of delight. "Good Lord, I don't think my husband managed to boil an egg in over thirty years of marriage."

"Oh, Remington, we couldn't possibly let you help," interjected Abigail. "I mean – you are a guest now. I don't think it's right for the man of the house to cook, anyway."

"Oh, good grief! How old fashioned…" said Laura vehemently.

"I am sorry if you don't agree, Laura, but that is my opinion. I am allowed to express my opinion, aren't I?"

"Mother, he helped you with breakfast this morning; you didn't seem to mind then."

"Now Laura, that's only breakfast. Anyway, I suppose being married to you, it is a good thing Remington is a good cook – at least one of you will be able to do it so you won't both starve."

"Wha…wha…" Laura spluttered.

"Abby, Laura – will you please both stop your catfight this minute!" said Kitty sternly. "Now Remington, I think it is very kind of you to offer, but tonight, you are our special guest – so you will not be cooking. We want to welcome you to the family. But, I think it would be nice if we ladies did something together, so Laura will help us as well – in fact, I think it would do Abby and Laura good to cooperate on something."

"Hmm…ah – yes, I am sure you're correct," Steele replied to the family matriarch, glancing nervously at Laura in case he said the wrong thing. Laura, though, looked suitably chastised by her grandmother's words – her flash of temper having past, her face appeared calm.

"I think…yes, let's have a traditional, family pot roast – with all the trimmings! What could be more appropriate? And corn bread! Abby – you and Laura will make the pot roast; I shall make the corn bread. And Remington – you will sit there and watch."

Kitty rose and, ushering Abigail and Laura with her, the kitchen became a bustle of activity: aprons were donned, hands washed, cupboards searched, chopping boards hunted out, cans opened, skillets set a frying…

Steele watched the frenetic activity thoughtfully. As the three generations of Wood-Holt women moved about the kitchen, passing and re-passing each other, the physical similarities between them were noticeable. All were about average height, with narrow faces, and slim. Kitty and Abigail – blond; Laura the most distinctive with her much darker hair. Steele supposed that her coloring must have come from her father.

Mrs Wood, Steele thought, seemed to have the most laid back temperament of the three and the sharpest sense of humor; Steele doubted Abigail had much of a sense of humor at all. Laura – his Laura – was undoubtedly the spikiest of the three generations; Steele was only too familiar with her temper when aroused. But he could see also the parallels between Laura and her mother, which perhaps Laura herself was unable to see. Abigail was a pleaser, who so obviously wore her concerns about other people – and what they thought – on her sleeve. Laura, he knew, was something of a worrier, but she internalized her concerns and fears.

It was strange for Steele, watching the scene, to think that he was a part of this family now. Since he was a little boy, he had never felt part of a family, and yet here were two people – Kitty and Abigail – who could not have been more welcoming to him. Even watching them preparing the evening meal together with Laura, Steele felt somewhat outside the scene before him – not a participant but a voyeur on someone else's life. That feeling had persisted throughout his life, and he knew – despite the kindness shown to him by Laura's mother and grandmother – that it would take a long time, if ever, before he truly believed he belonged. But for this evening, it was nice to try and pretend – to try and convince himself, at least – that he could belong.

His reveries were interrupted by Kitty, who asked him to go out to a local convenience store and bring back some wine. After borrowing the keys to Abigail's car from Laura, and getting directions to the best local option to buy a decent bottle, Steele headed out. Cruising around for a while, apart from the bars and restaurants, he noticed that Chico seemed relatively quiet on a Sunday evening, even in the downtown area. But Steele eventually found himself at a large supermarket that was open. Amongst the myriad inexpensive dinner and table wines for sale, he did find a gem of a wine, a 1978 Ridge Vineyards Monte Bello, and bought two bottles for fifty dollars.

When Steele returned to Mrs Wood's house, looking through the glass of the back door before entering, he saw Kitty and Abigail seated at the big pinewood table, while Laura pottered about at the sink, clearing up. He pushed inside.

"Hello, hello," he said cheerfully.

"Oh Remington, you're back. Did you have any success?" asked Abigail, in that breathless-sounding voice of hers.

"Uhm, yes…I found a rather good, rich California red, actually. Let me open it."

"Well done, young man. I don't drink very often these days, so I don't keep any wine at home. But today is a special occasion, isn't it? A real family celebration." said Kitty.

Steele opened the wine, then went over and put his arm around Laura's waist. "Forget the washing up, Laura – come over to the table."

"Okay." Laura joined them, as he poured a glass of wine for all four of them.

"Let me propose a toast," said Abigail. "To Laura and Remington: long life and happiness – together!"

"Hear, hear," echoed Kitty.

"Thank you, mother. And thank you, grandmother. We're both…very touched."

"Hmm…This is a rather lovely wine, my boy – well done. Now, what say we eat?"

Everyone agreed, and Steele again sat – the privileged guest or old-fashioned man of the house, he was not sure which – while Abigail and Laura fetched dishes and plates and platters to the table, and lots of passing of plates occurred as Abigail carved the pot roast, Laura dispensed vegetables and Kitty cut the corn bread into slices.

"I hope you like American food, Remington," said Kitty.

"Of course; isn't good home cooking appreciated anywhere?"

Laura chortled, "You might want to take that with a pinch of salt, grandmother. Remington is quite the gourmet."

"Ah, that's not strictly true, is it Laura? I like to eat well, but I'm quite catholic in my tastes. Really Kitty, don't listen to her – I believe she thinks I'm fussy. But this – it's wonderful; and what is important is the time and the place, isn't it? The company and the conviviality?"

"Oh, so well put, Remington," sighed Abigail.

"This reminds me of when I was a child; we used to have pot roast almost every Sunday night – it was a family tradition."

"You know, Laura – I do believe you're right! Was I really that predictable as a mother, darling? Perhaps I should have been more adventurous in the kitchen when Frances and you were growing up?"

"No, no, mother: it wasn't a criticism – it was a good thing. It brings back good memories of when we were young."

Abigail reached across and gripped Laura's hand for a second, "Thank you, darling. In fact, the pot roast recipe I used to make when you were growing up wasn't mine; it came from your grandmother!"

Kitty chuckled. "And I got it from my mother. You see? Family traditions – a recipe passed down through the generations. Family – and continuity – there is nothing else as important."

"Perhaps Laura – or Remington – will pass the recipe on to their daughter?" Abigail asked with a smile.

Steele looked at Laura for a second; her eyes had widened in consternation. He jumped into the conversation, asking Mrs Wood, "And is it what you would call a typically Californian recipe?"

"Pot roast?" she chuckled, "I wouldn't say it is Californian at all, really – I think it's traditional Eastern cuisine. My mother brought the recipe with her when she came out here, I suppose."

"To Los Angeles?"

"Oh yes…four generations in Los Angeles – it makes the Woods practically an old California family."

"It's funny, I have always thought of California – LA especially – as one of those places made up totally of immigrants. Rather anonymous. Everything is new again there."

"Everyone comes to LA from somewhere," commented Laura.

"We're from Connecticut originally. My parents came to California when I was young, before World War One. Los Angeles was a very different place then – very small – mostly orange groves and oil derricks," Kitty laughed heartily.

"Connecticut, really? Is that why Frances and her husband lived there for so long?" asked Steele.

"Oh no, Remington, that was just coincidence, I think," answered Abigail. "After Donald finished dental school, he happened to be offered a job there."

"And what about your, er…husband, Abigail? Laura's father? Was he a Los Angeles native as well?"

"He was born in New York; an immigrant to California. A little like you, I suppose, Remington."

As the dinner progressed, all tensions seemingly forgotten, and with Remington's rather good cabernet sauvignon warming everyone up, Abigail suddenly exclaimed, "Oh! What's the time? Mother, we mustn't forget our show!"

"Don't worry, Abby, we shan't miss it."

"What show?" asked Laura.

"Sunday night, dear – your mother and I have a strict routine – a date with Angela Lansbury at Cabot Cove," Kitty answered.

"_Murder She Wrote_. We are absolutely religious fans. Do you watch it?" asked Abigail.

"Not really, mother. I suppose, when you work as a detective, TV shows seem a little…unrealistic."

"You're right, dear. I don't suppose Jessica Fletcher's house is likely to ever get blown up."

"It is predictable, it's true," said Kitty. "But it's harmless entertainment for us old folks, ha ha! I always enjoy watching it to look at the extent of Angela Lansbury's facelift," she added mischievously.

"Have you seen it, Remington?" asked Abigail.

"Hmm? Er, no, I can't say I have, Abigail. I don't really watch television very much. Of course, I know Angela Lansbury – she was at her best in _The Manchurian Candidate_ – with Frank Sinatra and Janet Leigh, MGM, 1962."

"Although Remington doesn't watch much television, he's a movie obsessive instead," chipped in Laura.

"Well, we have a lot of time yet," her grandmother interposed. "After dinner is over, we'll watch the show, if Laura and Remington don't mind. And we still have another bottle of this excellent red to finish."

After dinner, the dishwasher having been partly loaded and the kitchen cleared, everyone repaired to the family room, where Mrs Wood turned on the television. Steele had opened the second bottle of Monte Bello, and with glasses replenished, they all settled down to watch.

"Must you sit on the floor?" asked Abigail of Laura, who had settled into a catlike posture in front of her grandmother's armchair, with her arms and chin half resting on Kitty's lap.

"Oh, hush Abby. Laura used to sit this way when she was young."

"Yes, but she is not a child anymore, is she mother?"

"Let her be, Abby. Now quiet everyone – it's starting."

Steele watched the screen, as the titles to _Murder She Wrote_ flashed up. As the music ended, and the show began, he let his mind drift a little. He was not a great watcher of television; it was the movies that had always sparked his imagination, and the only program he had ever watched with any real conviction had been _The Honeymooners_. But now, he found himself unaccountably drawn into the embrace of Laura's family and this typically American ritual – watching television together on a Sunday night.

As he observed them, despite the occasional friction between Laura and her mother, Steele could see that there was also an intimacy between them – between all three women – that came from a profound knowledge and familiarity with each other. It was something he found a little frightening – that being part of a family meant being so exposed and so known by those who loved you.

The room had been quiet for half an hour or more, as Steele had kept one half of his mind on the television and played with his wine with the other half of his mind – holding every mouthful on his tongue for a nearly a minute, and savoring the bouquet as it dissolved from fruitiness to the deeper flavors of oak and tannins.

"The baseball coach did it," Laura suddenly said out loud.

"Say that again, darling," answered Kitty.

"The baseball coach is the murderer."

"Oh Laura, how can you possibly know that?" asked Abigail, turning towards Laura and looking at her skeptically.

Laura mumbled, "Uhm, you know, mother...he said he had an alibi for the time of the murder but there was nothing written in his desk calendar."

"And that's your reason? But Laura, dear – we didn't see his desk calendar, so how can you possibly know that? I think Angela Lansbury is the only one who knows who did it."

"There was a quick shot of the desk and desk calendar, mother. They cut away, but if you were paying attention, it was visible."

Kitty chuckled. "Well done Laura. Remington, this girl is a natural sleuth, wouldn't you say so?"

"Oh, I couldn't agree more, Kitty, I really couldn't." He turned to Laura, "Did you really spot that clue so fleetingly on screen? I'm very impressed Laura, I must say."

Laura grinned up at Remington, flattered by his words and, surprising to herself, glad he was impressed.

"If she is correct! Anyway, shh everyone," said Abigail. "I think we should wait until the end of the show to see if Laura is as clever as she thinks she is."

Laura was, indeed, as clever as she had thought she was. The family was genuinely impressed when Laura's hunch over the murderer was proved correct at the end of the episode, in the great reveal when Jessica Fletcher fingered the culprit. Even Abigail looked at Laura with real admiration, and mother and daughter exchanged a look of affection.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

When it was time, finally, for Remington and Laura to depart, they all returned briefly to Abigail's house in her car, and Remington and Laura quickly packed their suitcases. Abigail then made the relatively short drive to the station.

At that time of the night, there were only a few staff around the place, and in the waiting room, a small number of passengers like Steele and Laura, booked on the Coast Starlight. The early summer night was quite warm, and despite the break from their usual bedtime routine, the older women enjoyed sharing these last few minutes with Laura and her husband.

Steele checked the announcements board. "The train looks to be on time – it should be here in about fifteen minutes."

"Oh good," said Laura. "Listen, mother, it's not necessary for you and grandmother to wait; why don't we say goodbye, and you can head off now? Don't you have to go to work tomorrow?"

"True, dear. But it's not that late; we can stay and see you on board."

"Laura's right, Abigail – we'll be fine. There is no reason for you and Kitty to stay."

"Well, if you say so, Remington. But Laura, dear – I want to give you something." Abigail lifted her purse from the floor, rummaged inside and withdrew what looked like a book.

Laura rose and sat down next to her. "What is that, mother?"

"This has been on my bookshelf at home for many years," she said, handing it over to Laura. "In fact, I had forgotten it was there, or had not noticed it. It came with me when we moved here from Los Angeles. I suppose it must have been wrongly shelved when you were a little girl. Anyway, I want you to have it back now."

Laura looked at the book; it was a slightly worn, hardback copy of _The Secret of the Old Clock_. There was a sharp intake of breath as childhood memories came flooding back to her. "Oh, mother…a Nancy Drew book…one of my old Nancy Drew books!" Laura struggled to speak, overcome with emotion.

"Yes, dear. I remember a few years ago, when your house was destroyed, you asked me if there were any old keepsakes and family heirlooms which I could send you; I am just sorry I did not think to look at my bookshelf at the time – this was sitting there all along."

"Oh, that's alright mother, you've found it now." Laura's bottom lip was quivering and she looked as if she might begin to cry; but always reticent about expressing her feelings, she fought to hold back her tears. She bent and hugged her mother.

"I remember when you were a little girl, Laura, you used to love those books," said Kitty. "Pass it over to me, darling – let me see." Kitty took the book from Laura and looked at it, then passed it to Steele.

"She was one of the reasons I became a detective, I think," said Laura.

Steele had heard of them, but was only vaguely aware of what the Nancy Drew books were like; but looking at this well thumbed copy, he guessed that it must have been important to Laura. He looked inside: it was inscribed 'Laura Elizabeth Holt' with the date '3/18/64' in what was recognizably an early version of Laura's curling script. Steele calculated – Laura would have been eight years old when she got the book.

"You know, when your grandmother and I moved up here, I did get rid of so much stuff from Frances's and your childhood when I sold the Encino house," said Abigail. "Of course, I did ship a lot of stuff off to Connecticut, as I hoped Frances would pass the things onto Danny – the other two hadn't been born yet. But I do still have some boxes of things in my garage."

"Well Abby, we should go through them this summer – it will give us something to do one weekend," said Kitty.

"Your grandmother's right, Laura, dear – we'll have a really good hunt around in the next couple of months and see if we can find anything else that you might like to have."

"I am sorry to say, Laura, that like your mother, I did throw away so many things; it seems a shame now. I don't know, perhaps we are being too sentimental?"

"No grandmother, I don't think so. You know, it wasn't until I lost my house in that explosion – and so many of my things – that I started to think about past memories and keepsakes. Perhaps it's a sign of getting older?" Laura said with a laugh, despite her red rimmed eyes.

Steele, staring off into space, spoke without realizing it, "No Laura, I don't think so. Perhaps it's only when we are a little older that we realize the tenuousness of life and then we want to remember those connections more, hmm?" Although he had never been a sentimental person, he found that thoughts of Daniel Chalmers had floated into his mind unbidden.

"Well, I promise you, Laura, that I am going to give my place a good going over as well," said Kitty.

Laura went over to her grandmother and embraced her. A silence descended as everyone was lost in their thoughts for a minute. It was broken by Abigail, looking at her watch. "Well, we should really be going." She and Kitty rose, together with Steele and Laura. Hugs and kisses were exchanged all round, and then, with a last wave, the two older women exited the station, leaving Remington and Laura in the waiting room.

Looking again at the Nancy Drew in her hand – a book which had had a profound influence on her as a little girl – Laura was unable to hold back her tears any more. She was conscious that she was glad her mother had not seen her cry, even though she felt closer to her than she had for a long time. And her tears were tears of happiness, not sadness.

Remington hugged her tightly. "Are you alright, Laura?" he asked, compassion evident in his tone.

Some way off, a train's horn could be heard as the Coast Starlight made its approach to Chico. The other passengers stirred and there was a rustle of activity, as porters began pushing luggage trolleys and passengers prepared to board.

"I'm fine," said Laura. "Let's go home."


End file.
